by Ann, Jewel E
He sucked in his bottom lip and dragged it through his teeth, closing the distance between them. With one firm tug he ripped the blanket from her body. Palming the back of her head he kissed her. Just as she suspected, it was hard, demanding, and bruising her lips as his tongue filled her mouth. His other hand grabbed her ass so hard she whimpered from the pain, but she was too turned on by his kiss to make any further objection.
The moan from deep in his throat coupled with the bruises forming on her ass beneath his fingers led her to believe she could end up on the sofa with his dick shoving her tampon a mile up her vagina. It’s like he had an evil spirit possessing his body, and she wasn’t sure what triggered its presence.
She whimpered into his mouth again and he released her.
He nodded, resting his forehead on hers, completely breathless. “Yes. Dinner. Tonight.”
Ryn blinked, and blinked, and blinked some more as he walked out the door and to his car with a stiff gait, fists clenched.
Grimacing with a hiss of a breath, she rubbed her butt cheek. The wedding and babies were officially on a serious wait-and-see list.
Chapter Thirty-One
AJ wanted to go to Houston to meet up with an old air force buddy. When they arrived in town he didn’t remember making that suggestion or any buddy of his who lived in Houston. Jillian died a little in that moment. The great big world felt suffocating, crushing, and a little too much to bear on her own.
She needed the grumpy, regimented, reads-the-paper-cover-to-cover-every-morning neighbor who gave her a sense of control—but he was lost in the mere shell of a man that sat across from her, picking at his salad.
She needed the brilliantly focused, paranoid but often right, possessive-and-protective-to-the-extreme brother who gave her the strength to fight back when life felt like a candy-stealing bully—but he was losing his own sanity between the man who wanted to be a husband and a father and the man who felt the need to kill in the name of keeping twins buried six feet under in San Francisco.
Jillian jumped from the clang of AJ’s fork bouncing off the table and onto the floor. “I’ll get you another fork.”
“Jillian?” AJ rested both hands flat on the table, fingers spread, chin down, eyes closed.
“Are you okay?” She reached across the table and rested her hand on his.
His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths as he shook his head. He squeezed his eyes shut then opened them wide and squeezed them shut again.
“I can’t … I can’t see very well.”
She died a little more.
Swallowing past the lump in her throat, she gripped his hand and whispered, “Tell me what you want me to do.” She hoped he didn’t notice the tremble in her voice. “Do you want me to take you to the hospital?”
AJ shook his head, keeping his eyes closed, head bowed.
“I can get us a plane back to Portland. Maybe there’s something your doctors can do.”
Another slow head shake. “Take me back to the hotel.”
She nodded, but after a moment, reality hit her. He. Couldn’t. See. Her.
After pinning some cash under the napkin dispenser, she stood and walked around the table. She rested her hand on his shoulder as he slowly scooted his chair out and stood, bumping the edge of the table enough to knock over a water glass.
“Fuck.”
“It’s fine,” she whispered again, knowing her voice would shatter into an avalanche of emotions if she said too much.
Taking his hand, she led him out of the restaurant and to the Jeep. They didn’t speak on the way to the hotel. AJ rested his head against the window with his eyes closed. She hoped he slept and when he woke his vision would return.
No such luck.
When they arrived back at their hotel room, he sat on the edge of the bed. All she could do was sit across from him on the opposing bed, watching him stare blankly at the floor, occasionally blinking hard as if he could blink or shake away the blurriness—the impending darkness.
“It’s time,” his voice broke just above a whisper.
She looked at the clock on the nightstand and realized she forgot to give him his pain medication with dinner.
“Sorry, I forgot.” Digging into her bag, she pulled out the bottle and set it on the nightstand then headed to the bathroom to get water.
When she returned she grabbed his hand to give him the water. He curled his fingers around it. The next few seconds happened in slow motion. As he brought the glass to his mouth she reached for the bottle. The cap was off and it was empty.
“No!” She whipped around knocking the glass from his hand. Shoving his head towards his knees, she dug her fingers into his mouth and began ripping out pills as he coughed. Losing his balance, he tumbled forward onto the floor.
“What are you doing?” she yelled, straddling his body while shoving his head to the side to retrieve the rest of the pills before he could swallow.
He continued to cough around her fingers digging into his mouth as he grabbed her wrists.
Content with the large scattering of expelled pills all over the floor, she collapsed onto him, banging his chest with her fists. “Why? Why? Why? I don’t understand!”
His hands rested on her back as she continued to fist and claw at him. “I told you … it’s time.”
She sat up, tears racing down her red, blotchy face. “It was time to take one pill. One. Fucking. Pill!” She grabbed the sides of his head and leaned forward resting her forehead on his. “Look at me,” she whispered. “Please.”
AJ opened his eyes. “I can barely see you.” He closed them again. Down the side of his face a lone tear fell. His. Fucking. Tear.
*
That night he had another seizure and later vomited before falling to sleep. Jillian didn’t sleep at all. She packed their suitcases and sent a text off to Jackson.
Jillian: Be home tomorrow night.
Jackson: Alone?
Jillian: No.
Jackson: I’m fine. I don’t need you to rush home.
Jillian: I need you.
Jackson: Safe travels.
Then she called McGraw.
“It’s two o’clock in the morning. West. Fucking. Coast. I’m changing my number,” he grumbled.
“I need a private jet from Houston to Omaha tomorrow.”
“He died?”
She gritted her teeth and blinked back the tears. “No, but he’s losing his sight, and I’ll need assistance from the hotel to the airport. Please don’t act like you don’t know where I’m staying. I spotted your guys following me yesterday.”
“I have to keep an eye on you when you call me every other day asking for ridiculous favors.”
“I’m done asking after this.”
He laughed. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
She had no emotion left, not even enough to yell at him and tell him how much she hated him … how much he added to the ruination of her life.
“Text me the details when you get everything arranged.” Letting her head fall back into the wall of the hallway outside of the hotel room, she pressed End, wishing more than anything she could press that same button on her emotions … on her own life.
By eight o’clock her phone chimed with a text from McGraw, mapping out the times and details for their transfer back to Omaha.
“AJ?” She gently shook him, but it took her saying his name several more times and intense shaking to bring him out of sleep.
He peeled his eyes open.
She was afraid to ask, but she had to. “Can you see?”
He nodded once. “It comes and goes.” He blinked hard.
She sighed. “We’re leaving in an hour.”
“Where?”
“Home.”
AJ’s expression tensed. “Portland.”
“Omaha.”
“Why?”
Jillian laughed. It was all she could do at that point. “Because you tried to overdose on pain pills right in front of me last night.”
“So you’re punishing me.”
“Punishing you? Oh my God. It’s not a punishment. I’m not taking you back to your parents’ and dropping you on their door step with a Post-It note that says, ‘Blind and Suicidal.’ I just want to go back to Omaha with you.”
“It’s not going to change anything.”
“I know,” she whispered. “Let’s get you into the shower. Our ride will be here in less than an hour now.”
“Our ride?” he asked as she helped him get out of bed.
“Yes. My drug dealer has arranged transportation to the airport and private jet.”
“Priv—”
“And please don’t ask me anything else about it because I can assure you in the scope of things right now, it really doesn’t matter.”
*
Jillian helped AJ to the hotel lobby fifteen minutes before their ride was supposed to be there.
“Sit here. I’m going to have the concierge send someone back up for our bags. I’ll be right back.”
AJ eased into the leather chair next to the lobby fountain.
She removed the hairband from her wrist and twisted her tangled blond locks into a messy bun then slipped on her sunglass. Her eyes were bloodshot and swollen from too many tears and no sleep.
“Good morning. How may I help you?”
Jillian handed the concierge her room keys. “Room 349. Jillian Knight. Could you have someone bring our bags down to the lobby, please?”
“Absolutely, Miss Knight.”
“Thank you.”
She turned and nearly ran into the gentleman in line behind her.
“Pardon me.” He smiled with a nod and stepped around her as she looked down to retrieve her phone from her handbag.
“Jessica?”
For the first time in nearly a year … she felt her heart. It beat just feet from her. “Luke,” she breathed his name with the first true breath she’d taken in nearly a year. And when she looked up … she saw her heart.
He looked just like she remembered—perfect. Except, all the blood had drained from his face. He eased his hand toward her head. She needed to stop him, she needed to flee, she needed to do something, but she couldn’t. For a mere second in time she felt every cell in her body come to life.
Luke ever so slowly slid off her sunglasses. His mouth dropped open. He looked at a ghost. She stared at a mirage because out of the corner of her eye she saw several men in suits coming to take him away. The clock ticked no matter how much she wished to be frozen in time at that very moment. She’d dreamed of seeing him again since the day she last saw him at the cemetery. What do you say to the person who gave you everything?
Tick tock.
Two men grabbed his arms, but he still didn’t take his eyes off her.
Say something, her mind screamed.
“Luke … thank you.” A flicker of a smile touched her lips as they pulled him toward the large revolving door.
Once he was outside she could see him yell her name as if something inside him awoke and he began to fight back, but it was too late. Two seconds later they had him stuffed into the back of a black SUV speeding away from the curb.
McGraw’s men hadn’t been following her because of her requests. They knew Dr. Luke Jones and Jessica Day were going to be in the same city at the same time … and as if not even death could keep them apart … they ended up at the same hotel, the same concierge desk, and then for one last time they shared the same breath of air—the same heartbeat.
In that moment she died. There were no more breaths to take.
“Miss Knight, we have to go.” Two more suits pulled her toward the exit and another black SUV waiting at the curb.
“AJ—”
“Mr. Monaghan is already in the vehicle.”
Luke. He loved her—adored her—and then he mourned her. But no longer. He would hate her forever.
Before they opened the door to the SUV, Jillian fisted the jacket of one of the suits. “You tell McGraw I’ll bring him and everyone else involved to the gates of Hell if anything happens to Luke.”
The young man swallowed hard and nodded. “I-I’ll tell him.”
He opened the back door and Jillian climbed in.
“Jillian?” AJ slid his hand across the seat in search of her.
She just stared at it … stared at him.
AJ squeezed his eyes shut. “Where is she?” he yelled.
She grabbed his hand as the vehicle pulled away from the curb. “I’m here. I’m right here.” Her other hand splayed against her heart, slowly clawing into a fist as she looked out the window, falling apart in silence.
“Where did you go?” AJ squeezed her hand.
“The restroom.” Words struggled to move past the asphyxiating lump of emotions growing in her throat.
“Did you get our bags?”
She didn’t know.
“We did,” the suit in the front passenger seat assured.
They arrived at the airport, stopping a short distance from the steps to the private jet.
“I’ve got him. Just get the bags,” Jillian instructed as she stepped out of the vehicle.
“Have you ever been on a private jet?” AJ asked as she led him up the steps.
“No.” Every response came out on autopilot. Jillian Knight had never been on a private jet. AJ’s distrust didn’t go unnoticed by her. Why would he ask if she’d been on a private jet when she confessed her first time on a plane with him months earlier? Because he didn’t trust her, that’s why.
They settled into the leather seats of the exorbitantly expensive jet and within minutes they were in the air. It may have been an awful thought, but as they ascended into the clouds Jillian was thankful that AJ couldn’t see her making the occasional wipe of her weepy, red eyes.
“What’s wrong?” he asked as if he could read her mind.
“Nothing.”
“You’re crying.”
“How—”
“I can feel your pain.” AJ held out his hand.
She couldn’t imagine having another man’s arms around her. After seeing Luke it felt like cheating. Cheating on a man who thought she died. Cheating on a man who by all rights hated her. Cheating on a man who she would never see again.
AJ’s hand hung in the air between them, so she took it and crawled up on his lap because she needed someone and in spite of everything that had just happened, she loved AJ and he loved her.
“Please tell me these tears aren’t for me.”
Jillian couldn’t answer. She just sobbed into his chest because she needed to let go of the pain that was absolutely, unbearably, relentlessly cutting her to the depths of her soul.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The demons from Jackson’s past continued to haunt him at every turn. If something didn’t change, he would lose Ryn. She didn’t have to say it. The marks on her body said it for her. Jillian had intimacy issues, not him. Yet since his sparring partner had been gone, there weren’t enough miles of pavement to pound, enough pull-up reps, or enough jabs to the punching bag to give him the pain he needed. That realization haunted him as much as his past: Jackson Knight needed to feel pain.
“They don’t hurt.” Ryn pulled her jeans on over her thong that showed his fingers, bruises like tattoos on her ass from him two mornings earlier.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, he reached out and traced the bruises with a feather’s touch. Then he gently took her wrists, inspecting the red marks he left minutes earlier from pinning them above her head.
Ryn pulled away to finish dressing. “I’m fine.”
How could he make her understand? How could he tell her the people he’d looked up to most in life were liars, cheaters? How could he tell her years of using women for his own pleasure, a physical release devoid of all emotion, left him feeling incapable of having a normal relationship? How could her tell he was conditioned to be a killer and he needed real physical pain to remind him of his own humanity?
Jilli
an’s stalker and Mrs. Baker had triggered his instinct to defend, to protect, to kill. Without that pain he felt himself crawling out of his own skin while his mind incessantly churned out worst-case scenarios that gave him a constant feeling of paranoia.
Ryn bestowed a sense of peace amidst the chaos. When they were together he wanted to crawl inside her and drown in the feeling of peace forever. That desperation had led to him trying to get as physically close to her as possible. But nothing he did worked, it was never close enough … the demons were still there.
Running from those demons left marks on the woman he loved. He was no better than Preston Iverson.
“I need some time.”
She turned, buttoning up her shirt. “Time?”
He nodded, but he couldn’t look at her. “You can’t let people do this to you.”
“Jackson, I said I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine!” He fisted the sheets beside him. “This!” He grabbed her wrist, turning it so they both could see the red marks. “This is not okay. This is not fine. It doesn’t matter how many I love you’s someone gives you or how many orgasms you have. You are a survivor of abuse so this can never be okay again.”
She shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. “Don’t do this. If you’re done with me, then grow a pair and just say it. But don’t hand me some you’re-a-victim-it’s-not-you-it’s-me bullshit! You don’t know what I’ve been through and how far I’ve come to get to this point in my life. Stop treating me like I don’t know the difference between love and abuse. I’m not damaged goods. You have no right to jerk around with my emotions, telling me you love me one minute and two seconds later calling some timeout because you don’t have what it takes to just tell me the truth.”
“The truth?” He stood, feeling that simmering anger threatening to explode. “Jesus, Ryn! What I feel for you is so fucking incredible the word love just seems inadequate. I’ve never lied about my feelings for you. I’m not dumping you, or breaking up, or whatever the hell normal people do. I’m just fucked up right now and it’s because I love you that I need to distance myself so I don’t hurt you.”
